Libby walked into my kitchen one summer evening, a few years back, as I was tenderizing chicken for dinner. I pounded the chicken meat with my trusty metal mallet. She suggested, after dinner, that we run up to Down East Home, a store here in Utah that sells name brand furniture and clothing at drastically reduced prices.
“There’s a nice couch there you should look at for your family room.”
So of course we left the dinner dishes for later and trucked on up to Layton to take a look. She was right, it was a comfy couch covered with yummy soft leather, distressed to make it look more inviting in the kind of room where a warm fire and pile of soft throws set the mood.
“It’s super, I said, but I’m not sure I want to afford it right now.”
“Oh, said Lib, I’m buying it for you.”
She had some reason or other to make buying it payback. Before I could talk her out of it she had completed the transaction at the front counter. (I know, she’s not your typical sister.)
We called our friend Reed to bring his trusty little truck and lug it home for us. (He’s kind of used to such requests.) He was there in half and hour. We hefted the couch onto the truck. We didn’t have tie down straps, but Reed promised to drive slowly and besides, we were only a few miles from home and what could happen? I’ll follow you, I said, in case anything happens.
So off we went, Reed in front of us, with Lib and me following in my van. Things went fine on the freeway. Slick on the exit. All the way to Main Street in Kaysville. But just in front of Davis High two cushions suddenly flew off the couch, landing in the turn lane on Main Street. We pulled over right away, anticipating that we would wait for a few cars to pass then we would run out into the center lane and grab the cushions. “Wow, we sure were lucky that they landed in the center turn lane,” I said out loud as we opened the van doors and surveyed the situation. Lib and I stood there on the side of Main Street while a couple cars passed. Then, like a tornado whispering impending doom, we heard the rising volume of sirens coming from the north. Before we could run out and retrieve the cushions from the road, a thunderous red fire truck, with a ladder on top for good measure, came hurling toward us, shifting to the center lane to avoid cars. In an instant our ears registered a thunk, thunk beneath the whine of the siren, while right before our very eyes the massive machine ran right over our new couch cushions. Lib and I stood there in disbelief while the ambulance behind the ladder truck followed suit. Thunk, thunk. Then they were gone.
We scurried out and gathered up our cushions, like wounded dogs. Breathlessly we returned to the side of the road. We examined both pieces, sure that they were gonners. But to our amazement, the stitching was still intact, and the shape of each cushion was still soundly square. We met Reed in our driveway and reunited the cushions with the couch.
There are rather large tread marks evident on our couch, if you look with intent. But you have to look with intent. Not to worry. It is, after all, distressed leather.
Last night when I was making dinner, I pounded the chicken for Picatta with my trusty metal mallet. It made me think that the Kaysville Fire Department should consider hiring out their trucks to furniture companies.
FOR HIRE …
they could put on the side of their truck…